Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started out like any other day. 

There was no such thing as a normal day in Bludhaven but there was normalcy in what Dick had to do. Get up, feed Haley, scroll through the endless amount of emails and even more incoherent text messages from the family group chat that he’s inevitably slept through and missed. 

The therapist that he refuses to see on a regular basis says that he should take a break.

There’s a reason that he doesn’t see him anymore.

It had started out like any other day, Dick doing what he does best as Dick Grayson– putting the money Alfred had given him to good use. 

Haven was a sanctuary, or so he wanted it to be.

Dick should’ve known better than to think that he could get whatever he wanted.

“...and I’m standing in front of you today, more certain than ever that we can be stronger,” Dick says to the crowd gathered in front of him, connecting with each of them in the way that Alfred taught him. 

Stand up straight. Speak with clarity. You belong there . 

It’s as if Alfred’s standing beside him, telling him what to say and how to say it– disregarding that Babs had taken the time to look over his speech and given him pointers or that Duke had given it a more thorough edit. 

Dick speaks as if his life depends on it, which is a metaphor that in hindsight he uses too heavily. 

He hears it before he sees it, the schwing of a sound that’s all too familiar and the immediate hit– a bright flash of red and gold that hits him too slow. 

Too slow . 

That’s not something that Dick usually associates with Wally West.

It’s immediate and blinding, the pain that blossoms across his chest– just as the disorientation is from the way the world warps around them. 

He’s looking out at the crowd and then he blinks and he’s looking up into the sky– not his sky though, the clear blue skies replaced for something more reminiscent of a Dickensian novel.

“ No . No, no, no, no,” he can hear Wally say, swearing under his breath as he gently lays Dick down on the ground– the pain making itself known as he tries to take a breath.

Tries being the operative word, lungs struggling from the sharp pain that he feels– Wally’s hands pressed against his chest as he crowds up in Dick’s vision.

“Stay with me, alright?” Wally says and Dick doesn’t plan on going anywhere, not knowing where here is anymore but convinced that this was a shit way to die. 

Again .

Jason would never let him hear the end of it.

“What–”

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” Wally says, nodding a few times as Dick tries to breathe again– the sharpness of it and the immediate way that he’s unable to telling him all that he needs to know. 

Wherever he’s been shot– and the pain currently throbbing from his chest, not quite close enough to his heart but enough that it’s murderous to breathe– means that any movement would be fatal. He’s lived through enough injuries, lived enough to know that whatever Wally’s thinking of doing he’s got to do it quick.

It’s the one thing that he can trust Wally to do. 

Should be able to, until he hears an unearthly screech to his left– Wally looking over his shoulder.

“Shit,” Wally says and it’s all he gets to say, Wally wrestled from Dick from one blink to the next.

“What–” Dick gasps out, looking to his right and seeing nothing– whoever or whatever that had taken Wally being just as quick as he is, the realization coming to him just as quickly as his breaths are able to. 

Dick looks aimlessly over to the right before finally righting himself, looking back up to the sky and taking stock of the situation.

He’s been shot, that he’s certain of. From the feel of it– sharp pain, interrupted breathing and the worry in Wally’s eyes– it’s not immediately fatal but it could be. 

He’s… not in Bludhaven anymore, the snow that’s gently falling down and the cold emanating from the ground underneath him telling him that wherever Wally had rushed them off to in his rush to get him away was nowhere near the early March weather he’d woken up to.

Dick tries to think of where the hell he could be, reaching down to his pocket for his phone only to wince– not just from the movement but from the memory of where his phone currently is. 

Still on the podium, likely with his speech still plastered on the screen. 

Shit , Dick thinks as he swallows down that old and familiar feeling in his throat, closing his eyes and trying to think of a solution to his predicament.

He’s shot, bleeding on a rooftop somewhere if the wind blowing across his face was any indication– in a city somewhere far from Bludhaven from the sharp change of weather. 

He doesn’t have his phone nor his suit, still dressed in the button down and tie that he’d put on this morning as he opens his eyes– hearing something to his left.

“Shit, man. You okay?” He hears a voice ask, Dick going to lift his head up only to gasp in pain.

“Shit. Not okay, not okay,” the voice says, rushing up to him and immediately pressing a hand to his chest. Dick looks up to him and blinks a few times, confusion flooding him as he tries to make sense of who is kneeling above him.

“Jason?” He asks, watching as they tilt their head to the side. 

“Is that your name? Hi Jason, I’m Spider-Man,” he says, gently pressing down on to the wound as Dick winces. “Sorry, I know it hurts. Gotta stop this from bleeding.”

“Spider-Man?” Dick asks, the blood loss getting to him. He can feel it in the way his limbs feel cold, though how much of that has to do with the weather or the knowledge that he’s bleeding out, he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know a Spider-Man but he doesn’t keep up with the new metas anymore, he should ask Raven if…

Dick hisses in pain, feeling the pressure in his chest as Spider-Man presses down. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I— I gotta stop the bleeding,” he says but there’s something in his voice that wavers, familiar in a way that clenches at something in Dick’s gut. 

“S’okay,” Dick slurs, which he can recognize is a bad sign— his attempt to placate Spider-Man having the opposite effect. 

“ No . You’re going to be okay,” Spider-Man replies firmly, as if convincing himself. “You’re gonna… here—“

He shoots something at his chest, Dick barely getting the chance to see what it is when he’s lifted up— groaning in pain as Spider-Man manages to lift him up as if he didn’t weigh a thing. 

“I got you. I’m sorry, just— hold on for me okay?” He asks, Dick knowing with certainty that whoever Spider-Man is that he has supernatural strength— holding up Dick with one hand like it’s nothing while he sends another out into the city somewhere. 

Dick considers himself to be a smart man, not nearly as smart as Duke or as Tim but able to handle his own. He’s not smart or quick enough to catch on to what Spider-Man plans to do until they’re already tumbling over the rooftop, the familiar flip in his stomach from moving into free fall causing his head to spin.

“ Fuck ,” he says, from the pain as Spider-Man holds him tighter. 

“I got you,” Spider-Man says earnestly. 

Dick doesn’t really have a choice but to trust him.

He passes out somewhere from one swing to the next.

One minute he sees the dip and turn of unfamiliar buildings and the next he’s laying in a hospital bed, groggy and feeling the familiar coolness of some kind of medication flowing through his veins. 

Dick knows from the smell of the antiseptic and the steady beeping of a heart monitor that he’s in a hospital, something more familiar to him in a way that he’d rather it not be. 

He scrunches his eyes, slowly testing the waters as he opens them and looks around the room. 

It’s a nice enough room, clean and well-kept together. It’s better than any place than he’s seen in Gotham but maybe not Metropolis, trying and failing to remember what the weather would’ve been like there. 

There’s no way I’m in Metropolis , Dick thinks to himself– not if Wally was still nowhere to be seen and Superman hadn’t found him yet. The thought occurs to him that maybe he’s not just somewhere else but maybe when he was– looking around to try and get some details. It wouldn’t be the first time Wally had overshot and ended up somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Where is he now?  

Dick sighs, wincing slightly as the way his chest twinges at that– putting aside trying to figure out where or when he is in favor of figuring out if he was even going to last long. Wherever he is. 

It’s almost as if he could hear Jason calling him a dipshit in the back of his mind, adjusting the hold of the hospital gown he has on.

He’s been bandaged up well and from the IVs running through his arms, feels infinitely better than he had before. 

The door clicks open, Dick turning to see who it is to see a kind-faced nurse– a smile on their face as they nod towards him.

“Hi Jason, good to see you up,” they say, Dick frowning as he raises an eyebrow.

“Hi,” he says, not correcting them because he can’t be too careful– studying them as they close the door behind them and come up to to the side of the bed. 

“You were out like a light the last few times,” they say, the slightest Southern accent in their voice that throws Dick off. He hadn’t thought they were that far off from Bludhaven but with Wally it was anyone’s guess, nodding a few times as he smiles.

“How long was I out?” 

“Since my shift started oh about,” they glance down to their watch, “six hours ago? I’ll page the doctor to come in and check on you. Do you remember what happened?”

I got shot while giving a speech and my best friend tried to save me. He’s a speedster, ran me off to God knows where before some meta named Spider-Man dragged me off a rooftop and brought me here .

“Not really,” Dick settles on, unsure of just how much the nurse knew of metas or their own feelings about them– not when he’s still not sure of how safe all of this was. He didn’t think Wally would put him in any danger but he’s also not sure where the fuck Wally is right now. 

“That’s alright,” the nurse responds as they check his IV, Dick watching them carefully. “Though the cops may have some questions for you, when you’re feeling up to it.”

“Cops?” 

The nurse’s smile tightens, almost apologetic as they say, “Sorry, routine in cases like yours. It’s not often that we get someone brought in by Spider-Man with a gunshot no less.” 

“Spider-Man? You know him?” Dick asks, the nurse’s smile turning more amused. 

“Doesn’t everyone? Got accused of murder a few months back,” they say, taking note of something from his IV before moving to the monitor that’s changed to them. “Not that I believed any of that foolishness.”

“ Murder ?” Dick asks, the nurse’s expression shifting as Dick clarifies. “Sorry, I’m… from out of town.”

To say the least , he thinks as the nurse looks at him carefully.

“Honey, do you know where you are?” 

“The hospital?” Dick asks helplessly, the nurse looking sympathetic. 

“I’ll have the doctor come in sooner, get that head of yours checked out,” they say, that twang coming through their voice once more. 

Dick lets that settle as they finish out their checks, a creeping feeling in the back of his neck that there was something significant that he was missing. Dick really didn’t keep up with meta news but if one had been accused of murder in the last few months and had as much reach in the news that the nurse seemed to believe, it was unlikely that Raven hadn’t heard about it.

If she would’ve told him about it was another matter entirely but he likes to think she still felt like she could talk to him, it wasn’t as if–

“You alright there?” The nurse asks, throwing Dick out of his thoughts as he looks back up to them. “Got quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies easily, a skill that came naturally now. “Well, as fine as I can be since…” 

He trails off, lifting a head to motion towards his chest before instantly regretting it– the nurse smirking as they rest a hand to his arm, gentle as smile at him. 

“Well, you’re safe now,” they say before letting go, “I’ll have the doctor come in soon, alright?”

Dick nods, the nurse going to leave when he asks, “Where am I?”

The nurse pauses, sympathy written all over their face as they reply, “New York. Mount Sinai to be specific.”

Not that far then , Dick thinks– more confused as he asks, “And the date?”

“December 29th, 2024,” the nurse rattles off, causing Dick to blink a few times. 

What the fuck?

There are a few things Dick learns about his current situation in quick succession.

The first is that while he is in New York, he is most certainly not in his New York– something that becomes immediately apparent with the questions that the cops ask him and the results he gets from getting the television turned on. 

There’s no Metropolis, no Gotham, no Central City– nothing that sounds familiar to him as he scrolls through the channels. There’s no Superman and no Batman but there are metas here– mentions of someone named Thanos and of Iron Man and Thor, Dick getting his hopes up when he heard of a Captain Marvel possibly entering the atmosphere only to find out that it was someone else entirely. 

He can’t say with any kind of certainty– not without a phone or access to the internet– but he’s pretty damn convinced that he’s in a different universe.

Which explains Wally’s disappearance , Dick thinks to himself as he scrolls through the channels– trying to make sense of the place that he’s in and all its rules. Time Wraiths were a bitch of a thing to shake off. 

It’s his best guess anyway.

Another universe would also explain the sheer improbability of almost no one having found him yet, fingers itching for the phone that he knows is nowhere near close to him. Dick tries not to think of the panic that’s currently happening in Bludhaven or in the group chats that he’s in, wincing less from pain but from having to deal with the fall out of this when he gets back home.

If I get back home, he thinks and then shakes away.

He’s going to get back home. 

The second thing that Dick is aware of is that this universe has… a different kind of ethos. The parallel of Gotham and Metropolis was the source of many a dinner discussion growing up— mostly between Alfred and himself— but the overarching knowledge of metas was a way of life. 

This doesn’t seem to be the case here. 

There are super powered beings— like Spider-Man— but from what little Dick is able to gather, the world that he’s in now doesn’t approach them as an every day part of life. They’re special. Unique. 

Dangerous .

Even if it weren’t for the bullet wound to his chest or the lack of anything available to him, the chances of Dick being able to slip out of here without some kind of problem was slim to none. 

The third is that the presence of superpowered beings— particularly those not of this particular planet— were not seen in the same way that Superman is. 

He knows they exist from the news coverage he watches but it’s more of the same, discussions of intergalactic peace treaties and talking heads that discuss the merits and negatives of being a part of those discussions at all.

This world is new to metas and aliens, as far as Dick can tell— chewing the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options.

He’s alone, he’s injured, and he’s by all accounts in another universe. He has no way to get in contact with anyone and no resources to even begin to try.

Dick sighs, leaning his head back against the pillow.

You’ve been through worse , he thinks to himself. 

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make him feel better about his current situation.

A day passes. And then another. 

Dick is getting restless, the last few days being the first in a long time that he’s been forced to sit still.

The irony of this isn’t lost on him, fingers itching to crack a joke in the group chat at his own expense only to remember that he’s alone.

The first nurse— Jamie, he learned— cycles through on their shift, being the nicest of the nurses that he has while he’s there. It’s during Jamie’s shift that he thinks he has the best chance of booking it, the cops having lost interest when they realized he had no information to give and a social worker coming back talking about “relocation” and “rehab.”

In his own universe, Dick would’ve been able to pass off any and everything on a trip to Wayne Manor— the reluctance in using that card in his daily life being overridden with the necessity. 

He has no such card to play here. 

It’s time for Dick to get creative. 

“Any weekend plans?” He asks Jamie as they dutifully check his blood pressure and his IV, Jamie smiling at him as he smiles back.

“Working,” Jamie says congenially, “so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

I won’t , he thinks but doesn’t say, Jamie taking note of what they need before they look around. “Anything I can get you?”

Dick shakes his head. 

“Nope, all good. Thanks. For everything,” he says, Jamie’s smile deepening as he does.

“You got it. See you tomorrow, Jason,” Jamie says, Dick nodding in return as Jamie takes their leave. 

He almost feels bad, for leaving like he is but shakes it off. 

Dick Grayson might not be the type. 

Jason Todd certainly is.

It’s surprisingly easy to slip out of the hospital.

A side step behind a cart here, a confident walk there and before he knows it— he’s out the door, slipping out of the emergency room in a coat he lifted from a chair and in sweatpants he swiped from a stock room.

There’s some part of him that wishes he had cash or even a note to leave behind but he tries to think more like Jason now— having little to no options available to him as he rubs his hands together and walks with purpose down the busy street outside of the hospital.

The shoes he nabbed out of a janitor’s closet are old and worn, a size too small and painfully uncomfortable but Dick needs to keep moving— looking around and taking in his surroundings as he does.

He hasn’t been to his own New York much— aside from a date night here or there with Kory back in the day— but it seems familiar enough. The faded murals of the hero he knows to be Iron Man are scattered around the city along with other types of graffiti that he can’t make sense of. 

Thanks Thanos. Mysterio was Right. Who is the Watcher? 

None of rings a bell nor would it, Dick wishing more than ever that he had access to his phone or the internet. He passed by a few coffee shops but he doubts the wifi there will be of any help— wondering if Internet cafes are a thing in this universe when he bumps into someone. 

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, moving aside as the person he bumps into looks at him.

“No problem. You alright?” He asks, Dick meeting the eyes of a teenager— his friend staring warily at him. 

“Actually, sorry, do either of you know where the closest library is?” Dick asks, the kid’s friend— a girl with curly hair stuffed under a beanie nodding as she points in the direction he’s walking towards

“There’s one three blocks that way,” she says, Dick nodding and moving to walk away before he thinks better of it. 

“Thank you. And one more thing,” he asks, seeing the look on both of their faces and knowing he’s pursuing his luck— what little he knows of the New Yorkers in his own world not giving him much hope that people here anymore friendly, “is there a… a shelter somewhere? I’m— I just need a—“

“There’s FEAST,” the kid he bumped into interjects, pointing towards the right. “Take that street, four blocks down. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Dick repeats, the two of them nodding before he turns away— thankful for at least some direction when the girl whispers to her friend.

“Come on, I’m gonna be late for my shift.”

He leaves the two behind as he walks forward, looking between the two streets.

He needs information, but if there’s anything he’s learned from Alfred it’s that appearances matter. 

If the look on either of the kid’s faces was any clue, Dick looked rough to put it mildly. 

He knows Gotham has a habit of kicking people out of buildings who don’t look up to snuff, a bad habit Bludhaven’s picked up despite his best efforts.

Food. A new change of clothes. Preferably better shoes.

Dick takes the right towards FEAST as he begins to make a plan. 

The plan is simple.

Clothes, food and shelter, in that order 

Figure out if magic exists in this world

Find a way home

He’s well on his way to getting the first, getting checked in at FEAST by a volunteer named Teana who, upon seeing him, immediately offers him the chance to look through some donated clothes. 

He’s dressed in better shoes— socks included this time— and a much warmer, well-fitted hoodie as he goes through the line at FEAST to get some food.

Dick takes in his surroundings, the pennants that adorn the walls and the beds all organized across the floor. He’s learned from eavesdropping on some of the volunteers that FEAST isn’t just one place but several, currently in Chinatown and seemingly at the main hub of FEAST centers. 

There’s no FEAST in the New York in his world but Chinatown sounds familiar, taking note of the similarities and differences as he continues to move down the line. 

Dick’s overheard enough to help fill in the gaps of the things that didn’t make sense to him in the hospital— putting together something one patron called the Blip with the Thanos graffiti from a drunken rant someone had coming in.

Dick eats his soup, sitting at one of the tables they have designated for him to eat and thinks of what to do next.

From what Teana said, he was welcome to stay or to go— resources available to him if he wanted to transfer to somewhere more long term or just needed a warm place to sleep tonight. 

The weather outside was dark and overcast and with Jamie’s shifts serving as any kind of marker, it was going to be dark soon.

Dick slurps up some soup, apologizing to Alfred through the multiverse for his manners as he sets his bowl down.

He’s got somewhere to be. 

Dick’s never been afraid of the dark. 

Dick zips up his jacket tighter as he walks down the street. 

He got confirmation from one of the other patrons that there’s a library that stays open later, the same one the girl and her friend had given him difections to from how close it is.

Dick’s fed, better dressed and has a place to sleep tonight. 

Now he needs to figure out how to get home. 

Snow crunches underneath his feet as he walks, shivering slightly as he bundles the jacket across his chest and makes his way towards the library. 

It’s not any colder than Gotham on a bad night but there’s still the problem of the gunshot wound— feeling sore and achy, regretting not swiping any painkillers from the hospital as he winces.

He’s dealt with worse, he’s nearly died from worse but it’s the feeling of being out of sorts and out of step with the rest of the world that makes this different. 

Maybe that explains why he’s so caught off guard. 

He’s just a block or so away from the library if his directions are right when he hears movement behind him, reflexes slow and body moving even slower because of the wound he most certainly shouldn’t be moving so quickly with.

“Give us your wallet,” one of the goons says, Dick feeling the cold press of metal to his side.

“Don’t have one,” he says calmly as the other guy rifles through the front of his hoodie, Dick holding back a wince as he pats down where the bandage currently is.

There are about a dozen different ways that Dick can see himself out of this— the gun pointed to his back meaningless in the scheme of things. 

But Bruce taught him better than this— keep it simple, play it smart .

There’s no use in him trying to get home if he winds up dead.

“Fuck, man. Third one tonight,” the guy behind him says, Dick’s mouth quirking up as the one in front sneers.

“What are you looking at?” 

“I’m not—“ Dick begins to say when the guy in front swings, Dick easily evading him as he moves beyond the guy’s grip from behind.

“What the—“ the one with the gun asks, Dick wishing he had something more than his hoodie but it’ll make do— moving to the left when he hears a thwip to his side. 

“Hey guys, come on, it’s the holidays. Sharing is caring after all,” a vaguely familiar voice says, Dick watching in amusement as a web is shot out to the guy with the gun— said gun wrestled from his hands as another web shoots down and plants him to the ground. 

“Thank you ,” Spider-Man says as he flips down into the alley way, easily sending another web to the guy that had tried to knock Dick down— Spider-Man doing a double take when he looks over at him.

“Dude. You have the worst luck,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re roof guy.”

“Sorry?”

“Roof guy, with the…” Spider-Man says, motioning to his chest before looking more closely at him— Dick following where his eyes must be at only to frown when he sees that there’s blood that’s seeped through.

“Are you even supposed to be out here? What—“

“I’m fine,” Dick says with a smile, firm and polite just like Alfred taught him. “Thank you. I should go.”

“To the hospital ?” Spider-Man asks as Dick walks past him, his chest throbbing in pain as he waves a hand behind him. 

“Thanks again,” he says without stopping, half expecting Spider-Man to follow after him.

Dick’s relieved that he doesn’t, walking in the direction of the library and trying hard not to limp as he does. 

By the time Dick walks back into FEAST, he thinks he has more questions than answers. 

A brief search is all it takes to confirm that whatever universe he’s found himself in, it’s not one where Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman or any of the Justice League exist. To his endless amusement, the only proof of any of them existing seems to be based in comic books— Superman outselling Batman in a cosmic stroke of irony.

Dick has to remember to tell Clark that when he gets back home.

Magic unequivocally exists, a sorcerer named Doctor Strange and another named Wong that seemed to be based in New York City despite news appearances elsewhere. A notable news story in this universe’s Los Angeles involving superpowered beings tells him a little more of the scope of this world, along with the knowledge that the word “meta” was almost nowhere to be seen.

He knows from Constantine’s grumblings that magic is fickle and complicated, not something to be trifled with as well as not something easily manipulated. 

The chances of these sorcerers believing him were slim to none and even less of a chance that he’d be able to find them, but Dick has to try— thankful at least that the existence of people called Avengers and Spider-Man enough proof that his claim wouldn’t be completely ignored. 

It’s the latter that intrigues him the most, news snippets and blog posts that don’t make a lot of sense as he dived through him.

From what Dick can tell, there was a problem a few weeks back— coverage about multiple Spider-Man sightings and a fight down at this universe’s Statue of Liberty. 

There’s not much there and surprisingly little video of it, the utter lack of CCTV giving him pause for how deliberate it is.

Spider-Man was accused of murder, or so Jamie had said, and yet there was almost nothing to show of it— no trial, no video evidence, nothing to indicate that anyone seemed to care at all aside from gossip and tabloids.

In any other case, Dick would just let it slide— it’s not as if anyone at Wayne Manor hadn’t dealt with their own mismanagement of the press. 

There was something off about it though in a way that Dick couldn’t put a finger on, distracted as he walks into FEAST and looks for a cot as he bumps into someone. 

“Sorry,” Dick says, kicking himself for being this clumsy to do this twice— having bumped into another kid it seems who looks at him in mild surprise. 

“Oh, hey. It’s fine, you okay?” He asks, something off in his voice as Dick blinks— the immediate apology he had now replaced for confusion.

“I think I should be asking you that,” Dick says, the kid’s face unreadable as he looks down to his chest then back up to him. 

“You should get that checked out,” he says and that’s what does it, Dick keeping his face neutral as he looks down and sees the patch of blood seeping through.

“They got medical here?” He has, keeping his voice even— the kid’s eyes watching him warily before pointing over to the other side of the building. 

“You need—“

“I got it,” Dick says with a smile, the kid’s expression still neutral as Dick says, “sorry again.” 

“No problem,” the kid replies as Dick walks over to where he’d pointed to— convinced now of three things. 

The first is that while magic and aliens exist in this world, the specific oddities of his don’t— making any chance of going home difficult unless he can find an ally.

The second being that the closest ally he could think of would be Spider-Man— someone who seemingly has had his own share of weirdness in the last few months and might be the easiest one to find.

And the third, the one that Dick hadn’t been sure of until he heard the kid behind him speak, is that Spider-Man would be easy to find.

He looks over his shoulder, watches as he talks to a FEAST volunteer. 

Dick knows exactly who Spider-Man is. 

Chapter Text

Dick observes.

It’s hard not to, knowing no one in his vicinity and being– quite literally– a fish out of water. 

He gets bandaged up by the nurse that’s on duty, politely puts off the claims and the concern of what the bandage is covering up with a white lie of having been released from the hospital. 

“You really should’ve been looked out for more,” the nurse had said, frowning as he had reapplied some ointment and got to work on bandaging him up. “I wouldn’t recommend for you to be out and about.”

“They were running out of room and I wasn’t deemed an emergent case,” Dick rattles off with a confidence, a skill that Bruce had taught him and modeled after him for years. It’s easy to do so, the nurse’s frowning deepening as they make a tching noise in the back of their throat.

“Damn hospitals. Overflowing and with no one to help. Blip troubles?” He says the last part as a question, Dick just nodding in response as the nurse nods in sympathy.

“Well, you’ll be safe here. Take it easy, get anyone with this badge,” he taps to the name tag that says that his name is Leon with a FEAST VOLUNTEER name across the top, “and they’ll help you out.” 

Leon studies him for a moment, Dick waiting patiently and keeping his face neutral before Leon says, “you willing to stick around here for a few days? Let me keep an eye on this.”

There’s an immediate part of him that wants to say no, get what he needs and to get out as soon as possible.

There’s a smarter part of him that recognizes that he’s not in any position to do so, his trip to the library being evidence enough that he needs a better sense of what’s going on all around him before he can even begin to leave. 

He needs to know more about where he is and needs to know more about Spider-Man.

What better place to find that out then the homeless shelter that Spider-Man appears to volunteer at?

“Yeah,” Dick says with a nod, “I will.”

Sleep is a restless, fickle thing.

He never used to be a light sleeper, a joke that his mom used to share with his dad that he could sleep through the big lights if they weren’t careful.

Dick presses a hand across his chest, softly grazing over where his gunshot wound is.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought of them.

There’s the usual noise all around him, snores from a man a few cots down and the errant cough here and there as he gazes up at the ceiling of FEAST’s main sleeping quarters. 

It’s New Year’s Eve in this new world, 2025 as if being in another universe wasn’t enough for him. 

What did you get me into, Wally? Dick thinks as he sighs, wondering to himself just where Wally is – or maybe when he is, if he’s right about it being the Time Wraiths that took him away. 

It’s any guess for how long it’ll be before Wally is able to sort that out, much less get word to Barry of how to fix it. 

It’s no secret to Dick that people will be wondering where he is, his people specifically but it won’t do him any favors to worry about that now. 

He didn’t get much of a chance to explore yet, though he has a plan to when it’s light– the appeal of wanting to move around in the dark and see more of what’s happening stopping in place with how difficult of a task that is now. 

Leon did a good job of patching him up but hadn’t given him painkillers, a sad smile on his face with the claim that it would be a liability. 

Considering Dick’s own experience in Haven, he understands their reasoning.

Still hurts like a bitch.

Suck it up , he can hear in the back of his mind in a voice that suspiciously sounds like Jason– feeling better about choosing to by his name rather than his own in this universe. 

Just as there was no Batman or Superman, there was no Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent– the short time that he had in that particular library before it closed not giving him anything in the way of information on almost anyone that he knows. Even the comic books on the heroes he knew weren’t particularly fleshed out, focusing more on what happened in the suit than outside. 

There’s a metaphor there that Dick doesn’t want to think too much about. 

It’s cold in the FEAST shelter, moving his hand down and bringing the blanket up and over him– sighing as he continues to stare up at the ceiling.

The chances of him being able to sleep are slim but he has to try.

He has a lot to do tomorrow.

“You leaving us?” Teana asks, Dick pausing as he looks over to the front desk where she’s situated.

“Is that okay?” Dick asks, choosing to play the confused out of towner– a play that he doesn’t have to go very far to do as Teana smiles, confirming for him that he chose the right path. 

“‘Course,” she says, bringing the clipboard in her hand close to her chest. “Doors are open for as long as you need them. It’s just– I know Leon mentioned that he wanted to keep an eye on that,” she says, nodding towards his chest area. “Said you were feeling some pain?”

“It’s fine,” Dick says, Teana’s eyes fixed on him as he shakes his head. “I just– you don’t have computers here, do you?”

“No, but there’s a library down–”

“That’s where I’m headed,” Dick says, hoping that he sounds believable even if by all accounts, he can see why she wouldn’t. 

“How long are the doors open?” He asks in a bid to confirm that he’s not trying to leave completely— the few semblances of kindness that he’s received here being something that he doesn’t want to diminish. 

He doesn’t know enough of this world to know how much that would carry over. 

“Till eleven,” Teana replies, a kind smile on her face. “Be careful out there. Lots of people out and about from last night.”

Dick nods, smiling in response as he puts a hand out to the door.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says before he steps out into the cold, bracing himself against it as he does. 

He takes the long way around to the library. 

It’s beginning to settle in on him for where he is and what’s happened, taking his time as he looks around the city and pretends to be just one of the many tourists that are all walking about. 

It’s not completely untrue, being a tourist in this universe if not just this city, but it helps him as he observes. As he watches. As he listens. 

New York in this world is still reeling from what he’s learned is the Blip, the closed down convenience store and the shuttered tarps in certain intersections reminding him of Gotham. There’s still life here and a busy one at that, overhearing the way people talk about their lives and their jobs, sounding familiar and feeling anonymous in a way he hasn’t had the chance to be in a long while.

It strikes him, as he’s walking down the street and avoiding some of the cars that are trying to turn, that for the first time in years that he can truly be anonymous. He’s going by another name, a completely unfamiliar face and in a world that only thinks of Gotham as a fictional place. 

It’s the kind of anonymity he desperately wanted when he moved to Bludhaven. It’s ironic for him to have it now . 

Dick spends more time at the library this time, the librarian giving him the once over but not bothering him as he spends his time browsing for more information online. 

His initial search proved correct, no information on metas and the confirmation that any familiar name that he could think of either didn’t exist or was entirely fictional in this world. Dick spends more time looking for Spider-Man this time around, frowning the more he spends diving in through online discussion posts and news articles. 

There’s something… off about the postings, articles rerouting when he attempts to click on things and comment threads for pages that don’t quite connect. From what Dick can find, there was a man named Mysterio who had issue with Spider-Man, a former employee of a tech company from the same man who he saw in graffiti art around the city. 

How Spider-Man was related to Iron Man was even more nebulous, some cell phone footage of the two fighting an extraterrestrial in Central Park being the only tangible evidence that he has of the two of them– aside from some commentary on a blog about the rumors of Spider-Man being in some fight in Germany.

It’s too much information with not a lot of context but Dick learned from the best, using all the skills and tools of research and investigation from Bruce only to become more and more frustrated. 

There was something missing here, something that Dick obviously didn’t understand but more unnervingly, no one else seemed to notice. It’s clear that Spider-Man is a kid, no older than Duke and just as resourceful. 

There has to be something more to it, more to him to be the kind of person that spends his free time in a homeless shelter– the thought occuring to him that Spider-Man was spending New Year’s Eve there. 

He wasn’t able to keep watch of him for long, seeing the way that Spider-Man would look over to him every so often with a careful eye– a tell if there ever was one for Dick that there was more to him than meets the eye. 

For all he knows, Dick could be found out and Spider-Man knows exactly what he’s thinking. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d underestimated someone when he shouldn’t have. 

Dick grimaces.

Maybe there was a reason Raven didn’t talk much to him anymore.

His stomach grumbles, loud enough for the librarian to look up from where they’re currently typing– Dick deciding that he’s done enough research for the day. 

His back is sore from the interdimensional travel, or maybe just an overall ache from the gunshot wound that he shouldn’t be so cavalier with in this universe, clearing his searches and clearing out of the library as he braves the cold yet again. 

It’s just as busy as it was before, giving him time to think as he walks towards the shelter.

There’s no guarantee that Spider-Man was a regular volunteer but Dick has a good feeling about it. If there was anything notable that he did pick up on him in his research, it was that Spider-Man was different than the rest of the heroes of this world– more anecdotal stories of him helping out those in the city, with an uptick of that in the last few weeks.

He even came across a website that seemed to obsess over him, the shoddy “journalism” giving him even more to pass on to Clark when he made it back home. 

Dick may not know much of the heroes of this world but he thinks he can understand Spider-Man– a kid who seemed content to spend his New Year’s Eve helping out in a shelter and would have no doubt gone out as Spider-Man when the hour got late. 

It’s something that he would’ve done anyway. 

He can hear Kory in the back of his mind, reminding him of all the things that he missed of her and of the way that she was able to get right to the point of what he was thinking. 

Dick pushes that away and focusing instead on getting back to FEAST in one piece, passing by a coffee shop on his way there. 

He does a double take when he does, looking through the window and seeing the same curly haired girl from before– wiping at the counter.

If there’s anything Dick’s learned in his life, it’s that there’s no such thing as coincidence. 

He debates for a half-second before choosing to step inside, the smell of warm baked goods immediately causing his stomach to clench as the bell rings.

The girl looks up, a disaffected look on her face and a tight smile.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She asks, Dick smiling as he walks forward.

“I just wanted to say thanks, for yesterday,” he says, the girl staring at him for a beat before he can see the moment that she recognizes him.

“Oh. Right,” she says, Dick smiling encouragingly as she awkwardly looks around. “Did you want to order… something?”

“No, I’m– I just wanted to say thank you,” he says, nodding once before realizing– belatedly– how creepy this would be.

Grown man who needed the homeless shelter, coming back to thank her for the directions. 

He nods, going to leave when she says, “Hey.”

Dick turns, seeing the way that she looks over behind her shoulder before going to the display counter– grabbing a donut.

“Here,” she says, voice dropping an octave. “I know the food at FEAST is shit.”

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“It’s good luck. You know, New Years,” she says, a smile on her face and with such a confidence in it that it makes Dick wonder if there’s some belief or superstition in this universe that he’s not aware of. 

“Thank you,” he says, matching her tone as he takes it– the smile on her face softening. 

“We take the trash out every Thursday,” she says, looking at him intently. “Anything two days old, we have to throw out. Which is like, terrible for food waste but you know.”

She stares at him meaningfully for a beat, Dick understanding her point and touched by the kindness of the veritable stranger yet again.

“Thank you,” he says, looking around for a name tag and seeing none, the only thing noticeable being a broken necklace. “Uh… thank you.”

“MJ,” she says, Dick smiling in response.

“Thank you, MJ. I’m… Richard,” he says, “But everyone calls me Dick.”

MJ raises an eyebrow.

“On purpose?”

Dick laughs, sharp and unexpected– enough to cause something in his chest to hitch as he tries to recover.

“Yeah well, it is what it is,” he says with a smile, seeing a man look in from the kitchen. The frown on his face is the expression of someone who hated their minimum wage job, likely her boss. 

Dick won’t infringe on her kindness any further as he takes a step back.

“See you around, MJ.”

“See you… Dick,” she says, unable to stifle the snicker in her voice as Dick laughs– turning and pushing the door so that he can leave.

At least some things never change.

The donut is warm and sweet, enough to keep him until he makes it back to FEAST.

He can see the relief on Teana’s face when he does come back in, still holding on to her clipboard but directing someone to move some furniture out– waving to him as he waves back.

He makes a beeline towards the kitchens, glad that he’d looked through the posted schedule and could see that they were serving lunch.

Dick settles in, eating the food that is given towards him and making small talk with the people around him– curious now to learn more about what life is like in this city and in this universe for the people that most like to leave behind.

It’s something that he’s never been able to shake from his own past, years of having had a relatively stable home in Gotham and a permanent place to call his at Wayne Manor unable to override the feeling of restlessness and movement that he had in the first few years of his life.

There was beauty in movement, a comfort in change that Dick relied on so heavily that it wasn’t long before he felt the need to keep going. There were many reasons for why he eventually moved to Bludhaven but he couldn’t help but think that this was a part of it– the freedom and the solace that came from moving when you needed to and even more, when you wanted to.

There wasn’t much in the way of want or desire for the people that Dick listened to, patiently listening to some who complained about the Blip in a different way that he had read through online.

There were some who the Blip– an event that reminds him of some of the things that Wally had told him about– wasn’t something they looked on with thankfulness. Some of the people around him like a guy named Randy was only at FEAST because he had been kicked out of his home, the original tenants coming back and forcing him out. 

There was another, a woman named Marjorie who pointed towards her daughter playing on the other side of the auditorium, who had returned back only to find that her apartment building didn’t exist anymore. 

From what Dick could gather, it had been more than a year since the Blip had happened and there were still issues and problems, still situations that reminded him of the distress that the people of Haven would tell him about– despite the differences in their situations. 

He inadvertently learns more about Spider-Man in the conversation, not even needing to bring him up as the people there do so on their own.

“He come around here often?” Dick asks, a guy to his left named Larry laughing under his breath.

“Yeah, he been coming around here, FEAST Queens, damn near every location he can,” Larry says, shaking his head. “Damn shame what happened to that May Parker.”

The faces of the group nod, Dick frowning as he looks between them.

“Sorry, I’m not from around,” Dick says, Marjorie looking at him sympathetically. 

“Volunteer at FEAST Queens,” she says helpfully, crossing her arms over her chest. “Died a few weeks ago in a bomb attack.”

“Not just any bomb attack,” a guy named Colin interjects. “Spider-Man was there and you telling me he couldn’t save her?”

“She and Spider-Man had some sort of partnership,” Marjorie explains, seeing the confusion on Dick’s face. “Came out to all the fundraisers and all that last year.”

“And look at all the good it did her,” Colin says, Marjorie frowning in disapproval. “Can’t trust an Avenger to do shit.”

“Spidey ain’t no Avenger,” Larry argues as Dick sits back, Colin rolling his eyes. “He’s one of us.”

“How you figure?” Colin argues back, sitting forward. “Fancy man in some fancy suit, swinging around here like he owns the place. What’s Spider-Man ever done for you, huh?”

Dick sits quietly as the two men argue, meeting Marjorie’s eyes as she gives him a sheepish smile.

Arguments about metas aren’t anything new for him, but it’s the first semblance of a connection to the man behind the mask that makes this conversation useful.

Spider-Man’s connected to May Parker in some way, the evidence of the kid volunteering here being proof enough for him.

If there was ever any doubt if Spider-Man would help him out, it’s gone now. To still be here, weeks after failing to save someone he clearly had to have known, tells Dick all that he needs to know about the kind of person Spider-Man is.

Now I just need to figure out who you are , he thinks to himself— letting the men argue amongst themselves as he thinks of the best way to do just that. 

A few days pass.

It’s easy to settle into a new system, a new rhythm, of having nowhere to go and nowhere to be beyond meal times at FEAST.

It occurs to Dick that the irony of Kory’s gentle (and not so gentle) nudges for him to relax only happened when he wasn’t in his own universe. 

He’s not sure if she would see the humor in that. 

Dick spends his days at the library and at FEAST, picking up more of what he can about this new world. He checks in with the nurse on duty that looks at the stitch work but doesn’t ask questions. He makes small talk with the people there, learning more about their view of the Avengers and others like them.

He learns about their lives too.

There’s a part of him, that sounds a lot like Bruce, that tells him he needs to make do— find some roots and find something stable in the event that Wally doesn’t come back or he isn’t able to find a way back home.

Dick tries hard not to listen to that voice. 

He instead chooses to take the time to compare the differences, learning more about this world’s history and of its metas— even if they weren’t called that. He learns more about FEAST’s machinations, pitching in where he can and becoming friendly with the staff. 

It’s partly to make sure he’s doing right by what he’s been taught but it’s also smart— part of the plan and part of his angle to figure out the man behind Spider-Man.

Whoever he is, Dick doesn’t see him.

When Thursday finally rolls around, Dick makes it a point of hearing back to the bakery that he had met MJ— not solely for his benefit but for the chance to bring back something to FEAST. 

He’s not sure of when her shift ends or when the right to stop by would be but he aims for the same time he came before, seeing MJ smile and wave as he steps in.

“Hey,” he says, MJ nodding him towards the counter. 

“What can I get you?” 

Dick blinks, MJ smirking before shaking her head. 

“I’m just messing with you. Hold on,” she says before disappearing to the back, Dick tapping his fingers against the counter and looking around. 

It’s quiet in the shop, a tv playing in the background and no sign of the angry looking man from before. When MJ comes back— white box of what Dick can assume is baked goods— he’s sure that she’d told him this day because it would be quieter. 

“Here,” MJ says as she hands the box toward him, putting a finger up. “Actually wait.”

He does, keeping the box extended before she comes back with the same type of donut from before— pausing before she asks, “you liked this, right?”

“I’ll take anything you want to give me,” he says with a smile, MJ’s eyes softening.

“But did you like it?” She asks, Dick seeing the look on her face and becoming that much more impressed. It wasn’t often that people cared enough for the forgotten, even less that they cared about the details.

Bruce would like her , he thinks as Dick smiles, nodding as he nods toward the box.

“I did. Really, thank you, MJ.” 

She studies him for a beat, calculating in a way that distinctly— and eerily— reminds him of Damian before relenting, opening the box and putting the still warm donut in with the rest.

“Delivery fee,” she says with a smile, Dick returning it as she closes it up. “Same time next week?”

“You won’t get in trouble for this?” He asks, MJ shrugging as she thumbs towards the back.

“My manager’s an asshole and I don’t need this job much anyway,” she says, bringing her hands down to shove into her pocket. “Just something to fill the time.”

Dick smiles, MJ getting a strange look on her face before saying, “sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m complaining about my job and you…”

He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to fill in the blanks, trying to assuage her as he says, “it’s fine.”

She purses her lips, as if it’s not— just another sign of a “sensitive soul” as Alfred would’ve called her. Dick doesn’t wish to give her anything more to worry about, looking so much younger in that moment as he takes a step back.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, adjusting his hold on the box, “thank you.” 

MJ nods, a faraway look on her face as she waves goodbye that Dick can’t read.

He pushes out the door from behind then walks back onto the street, heading back towards FEAST with the goods in hand. 

Dick only gets a few paces when he gets the distinct impression that he’s being watched, glancing up and then around to try and catch the culprit.

A shadow passes over him and then a blur of red and blue, familiar but not in the way that he’s used to when he sees Spider-Man swing over him.

Dick smirks, not missing a beat as he walks back to FEAST.

He might not know who Spider-Man is yet but this is different. 

This is a clue. 

Dick intends to find out what it means. 

Chapter Text

May Parker .

It’s a name that’s simple enough that it catches more search results than necessary— narrowing it down to FEAST and finding articles on FEAST Queens. The commentary from the people before had been true— May Parker having been an actual employee at FEAST in the time after the Blip.

Dick watches a clip of her speaking to the crowd, talking about her experience showing up in the middle of a living room— her story one of many it seems from this world.

It doesn’t surprise him that May Parker was able to put her own trauma into action— not if Spider-Man was somehow connected to her. 

Dick can’t seem to figure out what that connection is, going through her obituary and seeing no known living relatives— searching through what’s publicly available before it becomes apparent that something isn’t just missing.

It’s erased. 

It’s just subtle enough that to anyone not looking, not caring, not paying attention— no one would look twice to see the newspaper records and public family documents that show that May Parker had an arrest record that spanned protesting for environmental rights and against police brutality, only for a more recent arrest to show up in connection to the case against Spider-Man.

Why May Parker would be arrested for this appears to have been scrubbed clean, an intentional interference that gets Dick curious.

He’s gotten enough flack from Babs that he’s content to let her be the one to mess around with databases, the work of Oracle something he thinks suits her and doesn’t envy.

But Dick doesn’t have Babs in his ear or Bruce over his shoulder, gaining access to the NYPD police servers with little to no issue even on a public computer. 

He finds another record, cross checking it with the newspaper obituary that furthered that there was something missing— a connection there that reported the death of her husband Ben Parker a few years back and a record of guardianship a few years before then.

Guardianship for who , Dick finds is a little harder to decipher.

It’s a paper record gone digitized, scanned and seemingly destroyed in the process as he frowns. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s seen the incompetence of the police force but it’s something about this file in particular, the name of the child Ben and May Parker had taken into custody seemingly blurred in the transfer— like a piece of ink that smeared in just the right way. 

The same way that this same name is obscured in the newspaper article that reports on the murder of Ben Parker— shot in the chest after attempting to stop a robbery:

Bruce would have a field day with you , he thinks as he frowns— tapping his finger against his chin and frowning as he does.

There’s clearly been something here that’s been tampered with, intentional and too much of a coincidence to be the fault of mishandled technology. 

Whoever May and Ben had received custody of, who had watched Ben get murdered and then had seemingly been at the scene when May herself had died— all these things added up to some kind of tragedy bingo that any other person would say is impossible. 

Dick knows better than to assume that when the worst could happen that there wasn’t still more to come. 

And what better platform to become the kind of person to suit up and fight crime, to be wary and protective of gunshot wounds to the chest, to spend their holidays serving those who needed it the most— even if they've seemingly lost everything else?

Dick knows a thing or two about that. 

Dick knows that whoever Ben and May Parker had taken in was Spider-Man. 

Dick logs off of the computer at the library and leaves, deciding then that this place would be too volatile to come back to.

He covered his tracks as best he could but there’s no way to tell the impact of a digital footprint here— unsure of the laws or the tracking or even technology that could provide him more trouble than it’s worth. 

There’s some part of him that thinks that if he were to get caught, it wouldn’t be the worst thing— not least of which because the kind of person who did would have to be the same kind of person with means that could get him home. 

But Dick has a plan, one that involves someone a little closer to the ground but even more— someone who seems like he needs his help.

Someone who was currently following him.

Dick has enough spatial awareness from years of patrol (and years of being the famously adopted son of Bruce Wayne) to have sensed that he was being tailed within a few blocks— mentally running through the possibilities of how to approach this. 

Despite his efforts into digging for more information on May Parker, the connection Spider-Man seemingly has with MJ was far more nebulous. He could go by in the next few days, get more information out of her but Dick has a feeling that this would be seen as a threat— the way that he’s being watched as Spider-Man swings overhead feeling less out of observation and more with intention.

Girlfriend, maybe? Dick thinks as he walks, careful as to not raise suspicion. He’s still not sure of the extent of Spider-Man’s powers and the internet is just as vague– the amount of conspiracy theories that he’s read giving him enough to create his own blog of horrors if he so wanted. 

The New York of this world might be leagues different than the one in his own or even of Gotham but some things still stayed the same. 

There was always someone with an angle. 

It’s trying to figure out that angle, what purpose there could be to what Spider-Man is doing and who he is– not just under the mask but what he did when he was in it– that gives him the confidence to know that whatever suspicions that Spider-Man might have of him, he won’t do him any harm.

That much he could be certain.

The knowledge of how Ben Parker died and the newspaper report, edited as it is, gives him an idea– a potentially bad one but an idea nonetheless.

He goes forward with it before he can think too much about it. 

Dick stumbles then nearly falls, clutching at his chest for both dramatic effect and as to not actually cause himself harm– unsurprised when he’s immediately caught from doing so from the strong grip of the first person he’d met in this universe.

“You okay, man?” He hears Spider-Man’s voice call out, the surprised looks of the people around him as Dick rights himself up. Now that he hears it, it’s impossible to un hear it– how inexplicably young Spider-Man sounds.

Is this what we used to sound like to Bruce? Dick thinks as he nods, not so subtly rubbing at his chest as Spider-Man stares.

Or so he thinks, it’s hard to tell from the mask as Dick grimaces.

“Fine. Promise I’m not that accident prone,” he says, Spider-Man making a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Yeah, sure buddy,” he says, something just on the edge of his voice that Dick can’t decipher– his hand still on Dick’s arm. “You sure you don’t need a hospital or something?”

“I’m fine–”

“Yeah, sure, but this is also the third time I’ve seen you,” Spider-Man replies, Dick raising an eyebrow as he lets his arm go. “Looking like you’re halfway out of a morgue.”

I don’t look that bad, Dick thinks but keeps to himself– forcing a smile as he says, “I’ll be alright.”

There’s a beat, someone snapping a picture that immediately makes Dick deflect– turning his face away in a move that’s so practiced it could be second nature.

It’s a move that Spider-Man mirrors, Dick realizing a beat too late how familiar it seems to be for him before he says, “Alright, well. Stay out of trouble alright? Maybe watch where you’re going.”

He sends out a web and then swings up, some chatter from the people around them as Dick watches him swing out of vision. 

Dick frowns, absentmindedly rubbing at his chest once more as he begins to walk back to FEAST.

He knows how to get away from the camera.

He’s been in the spotlight before .

When Dick wakes up the next morning, his antics from the day before make themselves painfully known– an ache in his chest that feels familiar and makes him grimace.

Damn stitches , he thinks to himself before he sits up– surreptitiously checking out his chest to where the bandages are. 

There’s some blood that’s seeped through, confirming what the pain already told him that he’d managed to rip one of them open. Dick groans, leaning his head back and letting go of his shirt as he looks up at the ceiling– only to hear the snore from a man named Kenny beside him. 

None of this was sustainable, living in FEAST and having little to no access to any kind of technology or way to communicate with anyone that he knows. He needs to get the ball rolling or at the very least needs to get out of here, his resources limited and his restlessness getting the better of him as he evaluates his options. 

He needs a place of his own and from what he’s gathered in the walks around the city, there were plenty of places to squat– though that wasn’t particularly ideal with the chance of infection that he risked if he put his body under any more stress.

Dick could easily get what he needed from a hospital, particularly in the mind of Jason or maybe the kindness of the nurse that had helped him those first few days. But to go back to the hospital was also to risk the police, unsure still of the threat level that they faced and whether or not he wanted to put himself at risk considering his current position. 

He could stay at FEAST until he felt like he fully recovered but the lack of privacy was getting to him, quick on his feet in more ways than one from the questions that people lobbed towards him but wanting more than anything to just be alone – wanting even more to be in his suit and just grapple through the city while he cleared his head. 

Dick needs to get out of here but he doesn’t have a great place to go, the one person he knows in this city no older than Duke and the other likely the same– though the identity of the latter still being one he refuses to let go so easily. 

Spider-Man and MJ were connected, or maybe it was just Peter Pan’s, but how Dick couldn’t place– not enough to really make any kind of case for why that would be true. It’s a gut feeling but Dick’s never usually wrong with that, wanting to pursue that thread without also bringing some unwanted attention with his own hacking at the library. 

Dick stares up at the ceiling, formulating a plan. There weren’t a lot of options available to him but there were enough— at least for him to start pulling some threads.

Dick sits up from his cot and takes a deep breath.

Time to put the plan in motion.

“So, Jason. Tell me more about yourself,” Teana asks, Dick pursing his lips.

“Got into some trouble a few years back. Then everyone thought I was dead,” Dick explains, a sympathetic smile on Teana’s face. “Came back and then everything…”

“Nothing was the same, huh?” Teana ventures, Dick nodding as she continues.

“It’s hard, coming back into your life when everything and everyone has changed, but you’re not alone in this,” she says warmly, “that’s what we’re here for. To help.”

Dick nods, the irony of the conversation not lost on him. 

“Now,” Teana says, all business as she lays some paperwork down on her desk. “There’s some questions I need to ask you, some forms to fill out. Do them to the best of your ability and if you have any questions or are unsure of anything, just leave it blank.” A beat. “ Please , leave it blank. It’s much easier to correct something if there’s nothing there in the first place, alright?”

Dick nods, Teana nodding to that as she presses on.

“This right here is the housing application and this is for the grant. Everyone who gets through our rehousing program gets a small fund to help them as they reintegrate but with your current situation,” she says, looking to the wound on his chest that’s still healing. “An extra bit might not hurt.”

“Thank you.”

Teana nods once before bringing out a medical cup and clear plastic bag. 

“This is also part of the program,” she says, “you won’t be denied access to a home if it’s positive but you won’t be given access to single dwellings.”

“I’m clean,” he says though he knows words are cheap, no doubt countless others who have said the same thing in her office as she smiles. 

“Have all this back to me as quick as you can,” she says, motioning to the paperwork. “But this I need immediately.”

The latter is directed towards the cup, Dick taking it as she hands it over. 

“Thanks. Is there a…”

“Down the hall, to the left,” she says, Dick giving her a half-smile before turning away.

It was a level of trust to think that he— or anyone else— couldn’t just try and get a sample from someone else but from the people who frequented FEAST, Dick guessed that attempting to pull one over on them wasn’t a point of pride for anyone. 

Not when it seemed, from his own searches into what life is like in this world, that FEAST was one of the few options available to anyone who needed a helping hand. 

He does what he needs to, washes his hands and then sits outside of Teana’s office— grabbing a pen to fill out the forms.

Most of it is information he doesn’t have but he gives it a go anyway, hoping there’s some leeway here for the things he can’t put down. 

When he’s finished, he gives the pen back to the front desk then walks to Teana’s office— Teana looking up at him and taking the sample.

“All set?”

Dick nods, handing things over to her as she takes them from him. She scans the document, pursing her lips in a way that makes Dick think this path might not be as successful as he hoped.

“You’re from Jersey?” She asks, Dick feeling his heart skip a beat before he grins.

“That a problem?”

“We won’t hold that against you,” she says with a wink, setting his paperwork down. “I’ll get this processed quick as I can, alright? Lunch should be served soon. Paul’s making al pastor tacos.”

Dick smiles. “Thank you Teana.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says with a wave and a smile, Dick taking his leave.

There’s a New York where he’s from but not a FEAST.

He still makes a note to himself to look up a Teana when he gets back home anyway. 

In three days, Dick goes from tossing and turning on a cot in FEAST to moving into an apartment of his own— an efficiency at best but it was his.

“Water, gas and lights are covered for the first three months,” Maria explains, a volunteer that had walked him through the apartment and had given him the chance to even choose the place. “After that, it’ll default back to you unless you’re having some trouble finding work.”

She points to him, a stern look on her face that reminds him of Alfred. “Don’t let your heat turn off in this weather. Ask , we’re here to help.”

“How does FEAST pay for all of this? It’s a government grant?”

Someone snorts behind him, both Dick and Maria turning to see a teenager coming in with a box of things— Dick’s eyes widening when he recognizes who it is. 

“Stark Industries, not the government,” he says, not recognizing Dick though there’s no reason for him to— setting the box down on the counter before smiling to Maria. “Though I think Captain America is gonna change that.”  

Maria waves her hand, Dick seeing a resemblance between the two before it’s confirmed. “Don’t mind my son, he always has superheroes on the brain.”

“Ma—“

“ Ned ,” she says, Dick watching as the kid— Ned— clamps his lips shut before turning to Dick.

“This is stuff for you, to get settled. Toothpaste, toothbrush, you know,” Ned says, motioning to the box.

“Paid for by Stark Industries?” Dick asks, Ned grinning as Maria presses her lips together. “Related to Tony Stark?”

They both look at him as if he’s grown another head, Maria raising her eyebrows before saying, “you’re really not from around here, are you?”

You have no idea , Dick thinks but doesn’t say— Ned looking mystified at that before Maria puts her hand to the clipboard she has.

“We’ll leave you to it. If there’s anything you need, we’re here for you.”

“On weekends,” Ned offers, Maria giving him a look that just makes Dick stifle back a laugh. “What?”

“Have a good night,” Maria says, Ned waving before the two of them leave— Dick taking a beat and a breath as the door closes behind them. 

It’s a one room apartment, a bathroom down the hall and a little kitchenette. 

The bed was made, the room was clean, albeit very sparse— not much in the way of a view.

But it was his, a place for him at least for right now— keys on the counter that gave him the chance to figure out his next steps are to get home.

If you get home .

He ignores that voice as best he can, eyes moving to the box of toiletries— thinking of Ned and the possible connection there. 

He always has superheroes on the brain .

If Ned knew MJ and MJ was of some particular interest to Spider-Man, then maybe there was a connection there— fingers lightly trailing over the box as he thinks.

There’s connections all around, a web of tangled ideas and threads that he can’t quite unravel.

He plans to. He needs to.

With a place of his own, a place for now— Dick at least has the chance to make a start. 

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up to silence.

Not quite silence— the sounds of the city outside his window a familiar and comforting hum in the background. 

It’s a different kind of silence, in the way he’s able to wake up in a bed that’s now his own and a place that’s just as much— breathing in deep and exhaling slowly as he opens his eyes.

He hasn’t had much sleep since he’s first arrived in this universe and last night wasn’t much of an exception, mind whirring and his own concerns of what he can do conflicting with the permanency of what getting this place means. 

It wasn’t permanent, it was only a step— an easy way for him to have the space to find a way home .

He can’t help but hear Bruce in the back of his mind as he gets himself out of bed. 

He can’t help but wonder if maybe he was fooling himself from the truth. 

Maria had stocked up his fridge before she and her son left or maybe it was just part of the deal, Dick able to make himself some eggs in the tiny kitchenette. 

It was a far cry from what growing up in the Manor; more pitiful than even what he has in Bludhaven but it does make him think— the efforts he’s made in his city feeling lackluster in comparison.

Dick knows it’s a false equivalency and a bad comparison— the people of this universe having faced something entirely different to his own. But something Ned said stuck with him, the clear and freakishly coincidental connection to having the same boy he’d first met being the one who helped him to his apartment pulling together at threads that he couldn’t untangle.

Wally had brought him here by accident but if there’s anything that Dick has learned in his life it’s that things aren’t always what they seem— something rooting around in his brain at all the things he’s learned thus far and all the gaps he can’t make sense of. 

Spider-Man finding him on that rooftop, taking him to a hospital only to bump into two people he’s now seen twice over— MJ if not the place she works at having some kind of connection to Spider-Man in a way he couldn’t decipher. 

For Ned to have pointed him towards the same shelter that Spider-Man frequented, the same shelter that May Parker had been affiliated with who also had a connection— it was far too coincidental, too neat.

Too specific.

It reminds him of Constantine’s dilemmas and annoyances, the thought snapping into place like a puzzle piece as he cleans off his fork and plate. 

Magic .

It existed in this world, he learned of that with the knowledge of a Sorcerer named Doctor Strange and others in Nepal— a part of Dick wondered if Wally’s pivot here hadn’t been all that coincidental.

It’s something he’s learned from Bruce over the years, to pull on the threads before you and to uncover the patterns that were just below the surface. 

There was a mystery here, one that Dick was all too keen to solve. 

A part of him reasoned it was because he wanted to get home. 

The rest knew it was too interesting to pass up. 

“Really?”

“Yep,” Teana says with a smile, handing the box over to him. “It’s refurbished so don’t get your hopes up, but—“

“Thank you,” Dick says almost reverently as he takes the box from Teana, seeing the smile on her face out of the corner of her eye. After a morning of puttering around his apartment, Dick had run through his options of how to find more information— uncertain of where to turn and yet disinclined to visit the library yet again for risk of exposure.

The packet given to him when he moved in had mentioned something if a technological lift but this went far beyond what he had thought possible. 

“People forget that stuff is essential too, nowadays,” Teana says, Dick balancing the box in one hand to pick up a flip phone. 

Pre-paid up to six months, text and minutes, along with a laptop, charging cables—

It’s better than he expected. 

“Can’t get work without a place to stay, can’t get a place to stay without having contact info,” Teana rattles off, a spiel that he has no doubt she’s said multiple times— to patrons and maybe to city council members from the way she smiles at him as he looks up at her. “And now? After everything? People need to be in touch with each other.”

Dick has an excellent poker face and he knows uses it to great effect now, smiling at her before putting the phone back in the box— Teana folding her arms together. 

“Getting all settled in?”

“I am, thank you,” he says as he readjusts his hold, Teana nodding towards the back.

“There’s always food here if you need it, but I know some like to get acquainted with their own place. Have their own things.”

She unfurls her arms, smiling again at him as she says, “you need anything—“

“I’ll let you know,” Dick replies, Teana’s name being called.

“Take care, Jason,” she says, Dick nodding in response before he turns— the uncanny feeling that he’s being watched coming into full effect when he locks eyes with none other than—

Spider-Man.

He’s a kid, plain and simple. Duke might take issue to the moniker and the real Jason would roll his eyes, considering all this kid could do.

But Dick could see it, as clear as day— someone who didn’t even look old enough to drink, someone he knew with certainty suited up in spandex and swung around the city— was standing right in front of him, looking like stole Dick had stolen his lunch money.

It’s an odd feeling but not an unfamiliar one, Damian like in the way that Spider-Man sized him up.

From what he had found, Spider-Man wasn’t a killer, but he wasn’t going to push it. 

Dick knew that everyone had their limits. 

Dick nods, wanting desperately to start a conversation but having the good sense—and a gut feeling— that it wouldn’t be a good move, tearing his eyes away from him despite how much he can feel he’s being watched. 

“Peter! Welcome back,” Dick hears the guy at the front desk say, not breaking his stride when the kid responds. 

“Hey Siddique, how you doing?” He hears him— Spider-Man, Peter— ask, grinning to himself as he walks out the door. 

Got you.

Dick takes his things back to his apartment without issue, a buzzing in his mind and fingers constantly dancing about the box to his own place. 

It can’t be that simple and yet here it is, Peter— arguably Parker— right there at his finger tips to figure out everything about who he is.

If there was anything that he’s learned from Tim over the years— and Dick’s learned far more than he ever wanted to from him— it was that people were surprisingly transparent, easy to figure out and to find out the things that they wanted to hide if you knew where to look.

The problem Dick finds, after he’s set everything up, is that Peter Parker is nowhere to be found. 

“Hey.”

“How you doing?” Dick asks with a smile, MJ smirking at him.

“Fine.” A beat. “ Dick .”

Dick laughs under his breath, MJ’s smirk turning into a genuine smile as he says, “never heard that before.”

“What can I get you?” She asks, putting her hands in her pockets. Dick can see the man he’s sure is her boss behind her, just as he can see the confusion on her face that he’d come in on another day besides Thursday. 

“A cup of coffee, please. Black,” he says, nodding towards her boss who just frowns— going back to whatever business he has with the book in front of him as MJ nods.

“You got it, Dick,” she says and he can’t help but laugh, thinking of Jason and how he would get a kick out of the girl in front of him.

It strikes him that for MJ, he hadn’t given his false name— the thought never occurring to him at the time and something he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to correct now. Dick didn’t question it, a gut feeling and a gamble that he has now as he waits for his coffee— tapping a few fingers on the countertop and scoping out the coffee and donut shop.

It was relatively quiet, late enough in the afternoon to nearly be considered evening. He knows now that MJ, Michelle Jones-Watson and her friend Ned Leeds, are seniors at Midtown High— choosing carefully the time he came here to ensure that it didn’t coincide with school. 

A choice made all the more intentional for the person he hopes to find. 

Peter Parker was a ghost— a non entity, as if he had slipped through the cracks but meticulously so. There was no record of May Parker having guardianship of Peter Parker save for those smudged police files but it wasn’t hard— now that he had his own laptop and without fear of someone being over his shoulder— to find who May had been related to, an errant article on the death of two scientists in a plane crash only flagging for the notice of one Ben and May Parker and a mention of a son. 

The name of the son was conspicuously obscured, just as every other article he came across— far too specific to still be considered a trick of the transfer or one of human error.

If Peter Parker had been the son, then all of Dick’s suspicions were true— tragedy after tragedy to lose his parents, his uncle and then the death of seemingly last living relative, just weeks ago.

Any other person would have been holed up somewhere but Dick knows better than to assume that of him.

Dick knows, better than most, what Peter is going through. 

What Dick doesn’t know and can’t figure out is why Peter Parker has seemingly dropped from existence— having little issue with finding out where MJ and Ned went to school and seeing the social media feeds of classmates that talked about Spider-Man. 

Having access to their names, to their school records, to be able to hack into the school database and see that a Peter Parker had been in attendance without anything else to show for it— and no record of him ever continuing— was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. One that motivated him to come to Peter Pan’s in the hopes of seeing what other information he could get. 

“Here you go,” MJ says, Dick smiling in response as he goes to pay.

A few dollar bills, money he shouldn’t spend on an extravagance like coffee but if he pays his cards right— this could be the start of the end of his time here. 

This could be the way he finally gets himself home. 

“Thanks,” he says, passing it off to her before waiting for his change. “Any good?”

She smirks, looking at the coffee and then back to him. 

“You wanna try it before you pay for it?”

Dick shrugs, taking a sip of the coffee— not any worse than anything else he’s had as she finishes ringing him up.

“It’s good,” he says, MJ raising an eyebrow. “ Fine , at least.”

MJ nods, smiling at him for a beat as he attempts to figure out a way to approach a near impossible conversation— the reality hitting him that for all the questions he has, there was little chance MJ would provide him of any of those answers. 

It was evident to him, from a quick search online, of how often she and Spider-Man had been connected to each other but if that was the case— there was no way in hell she’d ever give that information up. Not to him, a veritable stranger— the kindness she’s shown him just that. 

It’s a kindness that he doesn’t want to take advantage of, despite how much he needs it— needs her knowledge or at her help in some way, a part of him wishing that Kori was here to smooth things over. 

She’s not, just as no one else that he knows is, some instinctive part of Dick not wanting to ruin the tentative rapport he’s built up with her as he salutes her with the coffee. 

“Thanks,” he says before he goes to leave, MJ giving a half smile before going back to what she’s doing. 

He leaves the shop, cup of coffee in hand and an eye out for someone he’d hoped would be there. 

He isn’t, which just makes Dick frown.

Maybe his instincts weren’t as good as he thought. 

Dick taps his feet up and down a few times, sitting on the edge of the bed as he thinks.

It’s been nearly a week since he’s moved into his new apartment and yet it feels like a lifetime— hands folded together as he rests them across his mouth, deep in thought and running through the plan that was before him.

He’s spent the past few days getting the lay of the land— going to FEAST to chat with Teana and laying the ground work to see how he can get involved, the possibility of working anywhere else not appealing in the slightest. He doesn’t have plans to stay nor does he think he’d be particularly helpful at FEAST but it’s something to fill his time— and his pockets— as he thinks, running through all the threads he’s slowly begin to unravel and all the while, trying to make sense of the impossible. 

Peter Parker was a ghost which wasn’t anything unusual for Dick, but it should be for someone like him— unconnected it seems to the kind of wealth and prestige that would allow for that kind of strategic invisibility and far too many things that Dick couldn’t explain. 

There was magic and there was a mystery and Dick felt right in the middle of it, the more and more he finds about May Parker and the missing pieces that seemed to skate right by making him as sure as ever that there was something significant to it. 

Clark had told him once, that when it came to problems that seemed impossible to solve, to solve the smallest part— bit by bit until you’re able to tackle the rest instead of attempting to figure it all out all at once. 

It’s trite advice from a Kryptonian but Dick had accepted the lesson all the same. 

It’s the kind of lesson that convinces him that this plan was the best of any.

May Parker had died in an attack at a condominium just a few short weeks ago— her place of residence easy enough to find. The chances of anything of note being there now, after so much time had passed, were slim to none but it was the best option available to him. Better than cornering a teenager at her job or a mother and her son during their volunteer work, whatever connection MJ and Ned may or may not have with Peter Parker and Spider-Man, not one he wants to press.

But May Parker and the theory that Peter had been her nephew, that was something he wanted to explore— sighing as his shoulders sag, a slight twitch in his chest as he does. 

He should still take it easy, take it slow— not risk the chance of infection when he was still recovering but Dick was convinced of this, the sense that there was something in May’s apartment that would give him some clue to whatever he was missing when it came to Spider-Man.

There was a path of least resistance here, an easier and yet likely more foolish one. If the real Jason were here, he’d just cause a distraction or some trouble— find another, more obvious way to grab the attention of Spider-Man in a way that didn’t push into secrets that may not be for him to know. 

Dick was far too curious for that, bringing his hands down. 

He knows what he needs to do and he’s choosing to do it this way. 

Dick was in too deep to let this one go.

Dumbass. 

He can hear Jason in the back of his mind as he walks into the apartment lobby, easily finding his way in by side stepping someone else as they were leaving. 

He’s checked and double checked that he had the right place and thought, for the briefest moment, that perhaps this was a dumber idea than he originally thought— the chances of any apartment still being open and empty even in the wake of the previous owner’s passing being something of a shot in the dark. 

But if Dick had anything to go on, it was the knowledge that May Parker’s connection to Stark Industries went beyond the professional— the nascent understanding he has of this universe’s Justice League telling him that Spider-Man’s involvement with Iron Man had become personal. 

The Instagram photo of May Parker and a man named Happy, who had looked anything but except in that photo, gave him the signal that this was a better guess than most. 

He goes up the stairs, carefully but without trying to cause suspicion— walking up to the apartment and scoping out the hallway. There isn’t anyone around and years of picking locks have given him enough skill to be able to do so without issue— sliding up to the door as he begins to pick at it. 

Click, twist, and he’s inside— taking a beat and attempting to open the door as stealthily as possible. 

If he was about to break into someone else’s apartment, in the early evening, he was prepared to face the worst of the consequences— another path and another plan that would work out just fine. 

But Dick has a gut feeling about this, one that’s proven right when he opens the door to a quiet apartment— stepping in and closing the door behind him.

It’s lived in but left in chaos, some papers and clothes still on the floor and things left on the table in a rush. There’s a layer of dust that he can see across the baseboards and on the bookshelf to his left but it’s the table that’s new, quietly taking a step forward as he leans forward to look and see what it is. 

He doesn’t get the chance to when he has the feeling that he’s being watched, looking up and seeing Spider-Man in front of him— seemingly appearing out of nowhere. 

Dick stares at him, stares at the white eyes of the mask and feels the tension emanating off of him— not missing the way his hands ball together and the tightly coiled anger that rolls off of his shoulders.

“Who are you?”

Dumbass, a voice that sounds like Jason says in the back of his mind.

He hopes that voice isn’t proven right. 

Chapter Text

“I’m not gonna ask you again.”

Dick raises his hands, carefully and calmly— the white eyes of the mask boring into him as Dick holds his ground. 

There was a part of him, that had anticipated this— maybe even hoped for it. Spider-Man is all tightly coiled tension and rage, barely contained as if he was a wild animal. If Dick didn’t know exactly who it was under the mask, he could see how threatening he would be— coming in without a whisper and catching him genuinely off guard. 

Another tick in his mind, of how much Bruce would like him. 

“My name’s Richard Grayson,” Dick says carefully.” Most people call me—“

“Dick, right?” Peter asks, the malice dripping from his voice as Dick watches him carefully— evaluating his options. “Or is it Jason Todd this time?”

“You’ve been following me,” Dick says, watching as Peter’s head tilts— a mirthless laugh emanating from him. It’s bitter, pain masquerading as anger as he rights himself up. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Peter says, confirming for him what he already suspected— calculating his options as he continues. “What with you showing up out of fucking nowhere. You gonna tell me how you got on that rooftop?”

Dick pauses, only for Peter to laugh. “Or at FEAST? Peter Pan’s? Who the hell are you?”

Dick thinks, swift and efficient before he takes the path of least resistance— hedging his bets as he says, “I’m from another universe. I was dropped here by accident.”

Peter stills, so solid that it’s as if he could snap before Dick notices that his palms tighten into fists. 

“From where?” Peter asks gravely, Dick getting the impression that multiversal travel wasn’t just known to Peter but unwanted. It itches at the back of his mind, puzzle pieces snapping into place that he can’t quite form together as he breathes in deep, exhales slowly.

“I’m not sure,” Dick says, his hands still up and everything about his posture gentle, unthreatening. “I know that I’m not from around here and my world is… very different than yours.”

Peter watches him, Dick unable to see anything of his facial expression through the mask. It inexplicably reminds him of Jason, an irony in taking his name in this strange place and being confronted with someone who resembled him so entirely in spirit if not in action. 

Maybe not action, time ticking away and causing Dick to wonder if maybe he had underestimated him when Peter’s body loosens, seemingly making a decision as he takes a step back.

“Why are you here?” He asks, no less on guard but less likely to pounce— Dick taking advantage of that as he presses forward. 

“I’m not supposed to be. I was—“ he motions to his chest. “I was shot.”

“Why?”

“Giving a speech,” Dick explains, the blank expression of the mask the only response for a beat.

“You a politician?”

“Hardly,” Dick says with a soft laugh, feeling the tension begin to lessen with each passing second. “I’m—“

He stops himself, unsure of how to even explain it. Peter doesn’t care about his life or his problems, nor does Dick think it would be particularly fruitful for him to explain the condensed version of a very long history with Bruce, with Alfred or anyone else. 

What Peter wants is an explanation, that if Dick is as right as he thinks he is— to know why he is in the apartment of his dead aunt, much less in his universe. 

“Sorry,” Dick says, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, for your loss.” 

Peter stiffens, Dick barreling forward before Peter can get too spooked. “This was your apartment, right?” 

Peter’s body language instantly changes, Dick’s working quickly to explain as he says, “I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise. I got dropped here by accident, by a speedster that’s my best friend. He was trying to save me and I think he just— overshot. But I’m here now and I’ve tried to make sense of this world only to keep coming up to something that doesn’t make sense.”

Peter’s body language is still tense, wary— Dick expecting the question before he asks it. 

“What?”

“You, Peter,” Dick says, cutting straight to the point. It was a gamble— a bad one , he can hear a voice in his mind say that sounds suspiciously like Tim— but he takes it all the same, uninterested in dancing around this anymore. Maybe this was the quickest way to the next life or maybe this was all a coma-induced dream but Dick has spent the past two weeks uncovering a mystery that he can’t shake— a mystery wrapped up in spandex and standing right in front of him.

If Alfred were here, he’d be exasperated at Dick’s insistence on solving this problem before his own. 

There was a little too much of Bruce in him than he’d like to admit. 

“Who’s Peter?” he asks, playing dumb in a way Dick expects but doesn’t have time for, shaking his head as he sighs.

“Please don’t do that,” Dick says wearily, bringing his hands down only for something to twinge in his chest. 

Peter straightens up, looking on carefully as he asks, “are you okay?” 

Dick’s been shot enough times to know that he’ll be fine, likely just sore from having holding too much tension in his chest and posture. He nods, absentmindedly rubbing at his chest anyway as Peter stares on.

“I know it’s you and if it makes you feel better to keep it on,” he motions to the mask, “then that’s fine. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down. Tell you what I know and how.”

Dick says it casually but he’s watching in earnest, betting on Peter following his lead. Of all that he’s learned from him and learned about him in the last week or so, Spider-Man wasn’t the type to punch first and ask questions later. 

He still can’t help but feel a flash of relief when Peter nods, Dick going to sit down and keeping his face neutral when Peter does the same. 

He waits a beat, partly to catch his breath but mostly to give Peter the chance to do what he expects him to— the same neutral expression on his face when Peter’s hands lift up to the mask and carefully slip it off his face. 

He’s not surprised to see Peter Parker staring at him but he is surprised at the defiant expression on his face, not looking nearly as young now as he had at FEAST.

“So. Talk,” Peter says, staring Dick down.

Dick straightens up and takes a beat. 

“Alright.”

He starts from the beginning, the morning of the speech and of the gunman, of Wally speeding him away and then finding himself suddenly in this world. If Peter has questions, he doesn’t ask— patiently listening with a blank expression on his face. 

Dick doesn’t mistrust him but he’s careful all the same, not mentioning Wally’s name or that of his own family just in case this is— somehow— some kind of Pit induced nightmare scenario. Everything in him says it isn’t, Dick slowly explaining the ways that he found himself to FEAST, began looking for the metas and supers.

“Why?” Peter asks, the first thing he does as Dick smirks. 

“I’m… one of them,” he says, Peter’s eyebrows lifting as Dick explains. “Not a meta, but I— I have… special skills.”

“Like breaking and entering?” Peter deadpans, Dick smirking as he nods.

“Among other things.”

He can see the questions written all over Peter’s face now but can also see that Peter is holding himself back, Dick giving him the space to do so as he continues on— talking more of his search into Spider-Man, into May Parker and how messily things seemed to be. 

He doesn’t miss the way Peter bristles at the mention of May nor does he miss the frown on his face as he explains the records he found— leading up to coming here.

“Why not just come up to me?”

“Would you have believed me?” Dick asks, raising an eyebrow as Peter’s eyes narrow. 

“You’d be surprised,” he says cryptically, without explanation. Dick makes a note to pull on that later when Peter surprises him and asks, “and Peter Pan’s?”

Dick frowns. “The coffee shop?”

Peter nods. 

“Why did you go there?”

Dick debates holding back the whole truth but something in him tells him not to, pressing his lips together as he sighs.

“Originally? To get a donut. But after some digging, I saw that the barista there, MJ?” Peter stills. “She’s a student at Midtown Tech.”

Peter is silent, staring him down as Dick continues. 

“There’s a lot of news stories of her and Spider-Man.”

“Stay away from her.”

The threat is clear, Dick raising a hand once more. 

“I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

Peter barks out a laugh, tinged with bitterness as he says, “excuse me if I don’t trust that.”

Dick waits, letting Peter have the feeling of control before he asks, “why?”

“What?” He asks, clearly thrown by this. 

Good . “Why don’t you trust it?”

Peter blinks a few times, making a face.

“Because I don’t know who the hell you are.” 

“But you know about the multiverse,” Dick says, “you’re not surprised to hear that I’m from another universe.”

Peter’s silence is all the answer he needs.

“Did something happen?”

“Did something— are— what’s your deal, man?” Peter sputters, shaking his head. “You break into my apartment.”

So he did live here , Dick thinks but doesn’t say as Peter rambles on. “You stalk my friends. You show up at FEAST with a fucking gunshot and now you’re saying that you’re from another universe? And rather than, I don’t know, trying to find your way home or whatever, you want to ask questions about me ?”

When he puts it like that, it’s as if he can hear Alfred’s long-suffering sigh in the back of his mind, Dick ignoring that as he says quietly, “I think something happened to you.”

Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Dick waits, patient as he knows he has to be as Peter studies him carefully. 

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“If I had the lasso of truth, it wouldn’t change,” he says with a smile, only to kick himself at the look of confusion on Peter’s face. 

“What?”

“Never mind,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I’m not lying.”

Peter chews the inside of his cheek, staring at him carefully.

“You believe me,” Dick says, not a question but a statement— one that’s proven to be true as Peter slowly nods. 

“I do,” he says, but he doesn’t look happy about it, frowning as he continues, “and I can think of a way to get you home.” 

Dick expects as much but holds back on saying anything, feeling like there’s something that he’s missing. 

“But?” He asks after a beat of silence, Peter frowning in response. 

“I don’t know how to do that without ruining everything,” he says, sounding pained. 

Dick doesn’t know what to make of that. 

Chapter Text

“So,” Dick says, Peter watching him carefully, “multiversal travel’s not your favorite thing.”

He blinks then smirks, Dick noting that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he nods. 

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Dick sits back in the chair, absorbing for a beat the story Peter’s just told him. 

It all makes sense now, why Peter was so defensive about Dick showing up as he did and poking holes in and around his life– former life as it were. He could still hear Jason’s voice in the back of his mind saying that anyone would be suspicious of someone ingratiating themselves into their lives but Jason was one more prone to paranoia, than patience.

The gaps in Dick’s research, the threads that didn’t quite ravel together, all of it clicks now in a way that just gives him more empathy for the person sitting across from him– Peter clearing his throat as Dick looks back up at him.

“So you see, I’m not really sure how to,” he gestures to him, “help you, or whatever. I can try, you know. Tell you where to go but I’m not–” he cuts himself off, Dick nodding once in understanding.

“You don’t want to risk more trouble finding you.”

Peter snorts, standing up and running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

There’s something painfully sad in the way he says it, a melancholy in his tone that Dick is all too familiar with. Dick can’t say he’s been in Peter’s exact shoes but he’s been through enough, the twinge of the gunshot wound he’s still recovering from in his chest just one of the many instances where he’s been faced with impossible choices and even more impossible odds.

Through it all though, he knows he’s always had someone looking out for him– someone that he knew he could call, even if there were times when he didn’t reach out for it. From the way Peter told his story, the careful and controlled way he described the death of his aunt, it’s all too familiar to him– the rawness of Peter’s grief so visibly on display despite how much he seemed he was trying to hold it back. 

He thinks now of Bruce, complicated man that he is– of the careful way that he carries himself and of the way he channels that pain and that intention into the rest of them, how it’s manifested itself differently in each of the ones that he calls family. 

Dick watches Peter run his hand over his face and feels the weight in a way that incites sympathy not just for Peter but inexplicably, for Bruce– the weight that Dick feels for his city, for the Titans, still not quite comparable to the inevitability that he can see is written all over Peter’s face. 

“I’ll help you,” Peter says quietly, his eyes having a faraway expression. “I can’t promise it’ll work, but…” he trails off, Dick going to stand as well– carefully pushing the chair back in. 

“Thank you,” he says, Peter’s eyes lifting up to meet his. “Really, I appreciate it.”

Peter just nods, Dick seeing the way his eyes flick out over the apartment– a place now that felt too sacred to talk strategy or plans. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. For breaking in like this,” he says, Peter shaking his head. 

“I’m surprised stuff’s still here,” he says, his eyes tracking over the dust and the personal effects– papers and other things in disarray. “I thought Happy would’ve gone through by now but…”

Dick’s not sure if Happy is a name or the super, some part of Peter’s story still outside of his grasp when Peter shakes his head.

“We should go.”

He grabs his mask then pauses, as if remembering that of the two of them– only Dick is in civilian clothes. 

“Um, we can meet outside or…”

“Could we go back to my apartment? If you don’t mind,” Dick asks, Peter looking on him in confusion. “I just– if it works, it’ll be empty and I just want to be sure it’s all in order for the next person.”

Peter gets a funny look on his face but then the corner of his lips upturn, nodding as shoves his mask on over his head. 

“You in the FEAST housing?”

Dick nods, Peter going over to the living room and sliding open the window– practiced as it is as the white eyes of the mask stare back at him. 

“I’ll see you over there.”

He exits out the window, sliding it close from the outside and then he’s off– the thought occurring to him that Peter now seems to trust him in this apartment when he hadn’t not thirty minutes before. 

There’s nothing else left for him here , he thinks in a voice that suspiciously sounds like Alfred– Dick pointedly shoving that aside as his mind begins to twist over an idea in his mind as he goes out the way he came, turning the lock and closing the door behind him. 

By the time Dick’s made it back to his apartment, the plan is nearly fully formed– Peter, not Spider-Man, waiting outside the entrance as he shifts his weight back and forth. 

“Hey,” he says, allowing Dick to take the lead into the building and following behind. His steps are quiet, Dick idly wondering if this was a part of his powers or something intentional– still things that he’s curious about, that at this point, wasn’t any of his business.

Not that that’s ever stopped you before , he hears in the back of his mind– not even bothering to think of who or where that could’ve come from. It was his fatal flaw, the one thing that has gotten into more trouble and more sticky situations– current notwithstanding– than he could count. It was a point of contention in his relationship with Barbara much less with Kory, even more so a consistent issue with the Titans or even with the current roster of people in various Batman attire. 

Dick’s never known to quit, something innate in him even when he was flinging himself off the trapeze– pushing himself to swing higher and jump farther– a trait that’s carried with him, if not magnified in the years and years since. 

Peter had no obligation to help him out, though he had certainly hoped that he would, and now knowing how much of a personal cost it would be– Dick couldn’t leave without attempting to fix the problem in front of him. 

It wasn’t his problem to fix but if everyone thought that way, nothing would get done– plan solidified as he opens the door to his apartment and welcomes Peter in.

“Home sweet home,” he says, Peter looking around as Dick closes the door behind him. 

“It’s nice. Nicer than mine,” he says, answering at least one of Dick’s questions and ticking off an option in his mind. Peter motions towards the box on top of the kitchenette that still held some of the toiletries Dick hadn’t fully sorted. “They set you up?”

“FEAST is very thorough,” he says, thinking of Maria and her son. “Though as I understand it, this has more to do with the generosity of a company than anything else. Your world is,” Dick laughs under his breath, “a lot more forgiving.”

“Company?” Peter asks, Dick explaining as he nods towards the box.

“The volunteers who helped set me up says this was all from a grant from Stark Industries,” he says, watching in surprise as Peter’s face pales. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“ No . No, no, no, not at all. It’s just– a surprise, I guess,” he says, shaking his head and looking intently at the box. There’s something off-kilter about the motion. “Or maybe not, I– yeah. That’s– good.”

Dick waits for an explanation that doesn’t come, Peter shaking himself as he looks around the apartment– only for a beat or two to pass before he turns to him in confusion.

“You said you wanted to clean up…?”

“I wanted for things to be put in order,” he clarifies, Peter staring at him warily as he puts his hands up. “Promise, this isn’t a trick.”

“Then what is it?” Peter asks, tensing up slightly though now– Dick can’t really blame him. 

“Just a question, or a few really,” he says, bringing his hands down. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel up to it.”

Peter raises an eyebrow but says nothing, Dick deciding to just play it straight.

“Is there a reason that you’re… that you’re staying away from your friends? MJ, was it? And Ned?” 

Peter’s face hardens, Dick continuing on before he can say anything. “I won’t pretend that I know what you’re going through, not with this anyway. I used to hate it when people would say ‘I know how you feel’ because even if they did, they didn’t . It’s different, for people like us. To lose the people we love and to– to keep going, with what we do.”

Peter says nothing but Dick can tell that he’s still has his attention– for now at least as he presses forward. 

“But from what you said, of the spell and of everything that’s happened, I– I mean, it sounds to me like you do have people in your corner. People who might want to be there for you, if you’ll let them,” he says gently, Peter chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“I’m not saying that it’s going to be easy but from experience, it’s– it’s hard, living and knowing that there’s some pieces of you that are missing.”

Dick presses his lips together, seeing the look of confusion on Peter’s face. It’s uncomfortable for him, to think of what that time of his life had been like– as if he’d been a whole different person which in most respects, he had been. 

Ric is a version of himself that wasn’t all good but wasn’t all bad, fundamentally missing not just the memories but the life that he’d lived beforehand– robbed of a choice that he hadn’t realized he could make. It was ironic in a sense, that it was only after his memories had returned to him and that he knew of the differences between his life that he could fully accept– in some ways– what his life is like now, some wounds that still would never be healed no matter how much time or effort put into them.

But it was a choice nonetheless, choices that Dick wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try and help Peter to understand what he was making by staying away.

“This,” he says, motioning towards his chest, “isn’t the first attempt on my life.” He huffs out a laugh. “Won’t be the last. But the last time, it was…” he motions towards his head, Peter’s eyes widening as he continues, “it was pretty bad.”

“You forgot who you were?” Peter asks, just as smart as Dick thinks him to be as he nods. 

“It was…it’s better left in the past,” he says, sidestepping just how difficult it had been really been, “it went from bad to worse and I– I hurt a lot of people, people I cared about, because I didn’t know who I was. Who I am.”

Peter frowns. “They’re not– not telling them anything is going to keep them safe. Keep them from getting hurt.”

Dick gives a small smile. “You sure about that?”

Peter stares, eyes tracking over Dick’s face as he quickly explains, “I get it, it’s easier, pushing people away. You tell yourself that it’s better for them, but at the end of the day, you’ll never know for sure what’s at stake. You say this memory spell took away everyone’s memories of who you were, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter says with a nod, Dick giving him a look.

“And you’re sure it’ll always hold? That it affected everyone, and everything, across the world? The universe? If someone else drops in, who wasn’t affected by the spell, won’t they know who you were close to? The people that you cared about?” 

Peter looks as if he’s been punched in the gut, as if the thought had never occurred to him as Dick looks on sympathetically.

“I’m not saying that keeping them in your life will keep them safe forever, I don’t think anyone can promise you that. But pushing them away? Without them knowing who they really are, who you are or were, in their lives?” Dick shakes his head, Peter absorbing that as he continues. “Take it from someone who’s been there. It’s hard enough knowing that there’s something missing and even worse if someone else knows more about you than you do.”

Dick shoves away the echoes of laughter in the back of his mind, forcing himself to stay in the moment and not to the way his skin crawls at the memories of who and what he’d done as Peter looks uncertain. 

“I don’t… you don’t think they still…” he begins then trails off.

“I want to get home,” Dick says firmly, the tone of it enough to bring Peter’s attention to him. “But when we go to your wizard, I just–” he cuts himself off, thinking carefully of what to say.

“If you’re anything like me, you may not swing by there again,” he says, a look on Peter’s face that tells him that he’s right on the money. “I just wanted to give you some time, to think about it.”

Peter blinks then nods, an unreadable expression on his face then as Dick moves away from the door– Peter going for it. 

“I really do want to pack some things up, leave a note for Teana or some of the volunteers,” he says, Peter looking as if he’s barely hearing him. “Do you think we could meet–”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Peter intones, a faraway expression on his face– his eyes flicking up to Dick. “Around noon?”

There’s more that Dick wants to ask, even more that he wants to say but he refrains– not wanting to push his luck and more, not wanting to push him before he’s ready as he nods. 

“Thank you, Peter,” he says, Peter just nodding as he opens the door, closing it behind him without another word.

Dick stands in the middle of his apartment, wondering if he’d fucked that up or if there was more to do.

You need to remember, you can’t protect everyone, he hears in his memories– Bruce sitting beside him and looking stern, trying not to be. 

There’s a phantom pain in his arm, a very real one in his chest– thinking now of what he did then.

I can try.

Chapter Text

Dick doesn’t sleep.

He tries to, passably at least— a lifetime of burning the candle at both ends working in his favor as he lays across the bed in his apartment, staring up at the ceiling.

If all goes well , he thinks, this won’t be my apartment anymore. 

Hope is a fickle thing, slipping through his fingers. Despite his concern for Peter Parker, Dick does legitimately want to get back home— unsure of the time difference when it comes to the multiverse and what home he’d be even going back to, if it worked.

He’s listened to enough stories, from Bruce, Raven, Clark, even Constantine— of what happens when you mess with magic. Time travel, multiverses, magic, all of it was a recipe for more guaranteed disaster than success. 

There was every chance that Dick could find that he’s made it home only for the world to be different, to come back to nothing and no one— having left behind a world he might not be able to get back to.

Doubts, much like hope, swirl around in the sieve of his mind— thinking back instead to something Bruce had told him once, during a practice at home. 

“Channel it, make it useful,” he’d said, speaking to his anger— though the words now ring true for so much more than that as Dick stares at the ceiling. 

Hope— in the potential, in the future, in whatever would happen next for him.

He takes a deep breath and holds on to it like the life raft it is.

When the sun begins to rise enough that the sky turns from an inky black and blue to a warm yellow, Dick gets up from bed—  doing his due diligence to do what he set out to do.

He finds some paper and a pen, writing a note to Teana in the hopes that he won’t be returning to read it himself— hopes that she feels the gratitude that he has as he tells her of how appreciative he is of her time, her care. 

Once he’s finished, he packs up some things, just to make it easier for the move out and eventual move in— FEAST housing and their structure something he files away for himself. 

If he made it home— when— he made it home, there was a lot more good that he could try and do. A lot more good, he thinks, that could resemble this .

Once that’s settled and the sun has started to raises further in the sky, Dick decides to leave— much earlier than the time that he and Peter set for one last trip around the city.

He won't go far, he’s already decided around that— just around a few blocks to sit, to people watch, to listen and learn as he’s been taught to do as he makes his way around.

The city is alive and thriving, millions of people going about their day— all of whom touched in some way by the Blip. It was fascinating to Dick, to think of how quickly they’ve all adjusted to this enormous thing only to smirk to himself. 

Considering what he’s been through in his world, he wasn’t in any place to talk.

Time passes quickly, sitting on the stoop of his apartment when Peter Parker stops by— Dick only slightly surprised when he sees him in civilian clothes rather than the suit he had imagined. 

“Hey,” Peter says, looking in truth like he’d rather be anywhere else. “You ready?”

Dick nods, taking his presence as proof enough he needs that something had resonated as he gets up from the stoop and follows Peter’s lead. 

It’s quiet between the two of them as they walk, the humdrum of the city.

“We’re actually not far,” he says, nodding in the direction that they’re walking. “We could take the subway but—“

“Walking’s fine,” Dick says, “thank you.”

Peter gives a jerky sort of head shake at that, keeping quiet as the two of them walk on.

There’s something that’s clearly on his mind, something Dick could probably make a guess towards but doesn’t want to press. Not, as the voice in the back of his mind that suspiciously sounds like Jason considers, because Peter was his ticket home but because Peter feels as if he’s on the precipice of a revelation of his own making. 

Dick would like to give him the opportunity to get there on his own.  

Dick takes this time to absorb the city yet again, an endless kind of fascination with the way things are different here. He notices the moment Peter begins to watch him, keeping his face in check and his pace matching his until the inevitable question comes out of his mouth.

“How is it? Where you’re from?” Peter asks, Dick turning to look over to him.

“How do you mean?”

He looks thoughtful, an exhaustion that seems to go right down to the soles of his feet as he purses his lips.

“After everything, with your, um— with your memory,” Peter begins, exactly where Dick thought he would, “how did things go?”

“You mean how did everyone take it?” He asks, Peter nodding as Dick considers it. 

It wasn’t an easy transition, for himself, for his family— mind rifling through the dozens of things any one of them had been through in the last few years. 

He could give examples, give explanations or reasons for how and why their relationships had suffered or grown but that felt misplaced— not wanting to lie to someone who had been through so much but equally not wanting to make it seem as if trying again wasn’t worth it. 

Dick finds someplace in the middle— Bruce’s approval somewhere in the back of his mind as he says, “depended on the person. Some took it better than others. Some…” he stops, thinking of one face in particular, a flare of shame at the look on Bea’s face coming to mind. “not so much.”

Peter considers that, Dick pressing on.

“It wasn’t all on them. I… didn’t handle it as well as I should,” Dick admits, swallowing down that guilt and the way Bea looked as she walked away from him. 

“I didn’t get it right, but I tried,” he says, feeling as if he’s saying all the wrong things from the look on Peter’s face but pushing on anyway. “Sometimes that’s the only thing you can do, you know?”

Peter doesn’t answer that but Dick didn’t think he would, not having to know all the details of the relationship he had with his friends and whoever else to understand the magnitude of what he’s asking of him. 

Ric was a version of himself that he’d rather soon forget but Dick Grayson wasn’t always easy to be either, the aftermath of that time in his life one that was just as difficult to manage as his life was now. 

There is a part of him, however small, that wonders if he’s doing the right thing– to insist on going home when Peter was so clearly in need of help. The rest of him that thinks of his family– his life, his people at home– helps solidify what he already knows to be true. 

Dick couldn’t run away from his own problems– the money that Alfred’s left him, the legacy that he’s left behind– anymore than Peter could, though in the latter’s case Dick can only hope that he makes better choices than he once had. 

It feels like too much to say with too little between them, too little time that Dick isn’t sure they have when they cross the street, Peter nodding in front of them. 

“It’s just up there. I’m uh,” he stops, looking down as Dick immediately understands. 

“I’ll wait over there,” he says, Peter holding his gaze for a beat and then giving a short smile, Dick turning away to cross the street again as Peter disappears into an alleyway for what is no doubt a quick change into his suit. 

It speaks even more, to the risk that Peter is taking by bringing him here– Doctor Strange’s hand in Peter’s own predicament and his reluctance to share his identity giving Dick the impression that there was more to the story.

He has more questions than answers, but they’re answers he has to make peace with never getting– barely a minute passing before Peter is swinging beside him, motioning towards the door.

“After you,” he says, Dick smirking as he walks forward. 

The steps of the building in front of them are still slick with ice and snow, Dick carefully walking up the steps with Peter beside him. 

He goes to knock, then pauses– looking over to Peter’s masked face.

“What?”

“Is knocking… appropriate?” Dick asks, unsure of how magic wielders were like in this world when Peter huffs out a laugh.

“I guess we’ll see,” he says when he knocks for him, the doors opening up as Dick looks inside.

He takes a step in, the grand staircase in front of them and ancient decorations giving the manor a run for its money. It’s the kind of opulence that Dick has never found a way to feel fully comfortable in, but knows how to deal with. 

Most times, at least– when a short man in a faded hoodie and jeans with a large pendant hanging from his neck waltzes in from the other room, carefully eyeing the two of them.

“Spider-Man,” he says, looking to Peter and then to Dick. “How can we help you?”

“It’s– he needs help,” Peter says, Dick clearing his throat as he takes a step forward.

“Hello. My name’s Richard Grayson and I… don’t belong in this world,” he says, in what he hopes is a non-threatening enough tone. The man in front of him eyes him carefully before shifting his hands, the pendant glowing green as he does.

“No, you do not,” he says, a gruff looking smile on his face as he nods to Peter. “You found him?”

“He found me, actually,” Peter says, sounding as if he was seconds away from leaving. “It’s um, he was at FEAST–”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Dick says, bringing the attention back to himself. “I just want to go home.”

The man stares at him, then to Peter– eyes tracking over to Dick as he can feel Peter visibly relax beside him. 

“We can arrange that. You won’t mind if I don’t do some checks first?” he asks, though Dick gets the sense that the request is more of a formality.

“Not at all.”

He nods, then looks to Peter once more.

“Thank you, Spider-Man.”

It’s gratitude but also a dismissal, Dick hearing it just as clearly as Peter does as he goes to leave.

“Wait, I–” Dick says, turning to Peter who stares back at him, the unblinking eyes of the mask fixed on him.

“Just think about what I said, alright?” Dick asks, wishing that he had some way of knowing what Peter looked like under the mask.

Peter stares then slowly nods before walking away, Dick watching as he does so and wondering if there’s anything else he could’ve done. 

I tried , he says– a cold comfort as Peter walks out of the building and the doors slowly close behind him, hating the uncertainty in it as he turns back to the magician in front of him.

“Shall we begin?” He asks, Dick nodding as he sighs and accepts– tries to, at least– his own limitations. 

The “checks” mostly involve some kind of biometric scanning, or at least that’s how Dick sees it. Wong, the magician, waves his hands up and around– muttering some kind of spell under his breath as he moves his hands into a circular motion.

“Can I ask… is Doctor Strange still around?” He asks, Dick noticing the twitch in the corner of his mouth. 

“He is busy with other matters,” Wong says simply before looking over to him. “Do you have business with him?”

“No,” Dick replies, because he doesn’t– what little he knows of Doctor Strange being too intertwined with Peter and his life. Despite how much Dick hopes– beyond all reason– that Peter will make a choice better for him the self-imposed exile he seems to be living in, it wasn’t his place to interject in this way.

Dick’s learned the hard way– time and time again– what happens when he does. 

Wong hums at that before moving his hands again, a golden ring forming in front of him. 

“If I have it right, this should take you to where you need to go,” he says, sparks and embers crackling across the ring as Dick turns to him.

“ If ?” He asks, Wong giving him a look as Dick takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

He braces himself, looking to Wong once again before saying, “thank you.”

Wong only nods before moving his hands, waving them around as Dick closes his eyes and the ring passes over through him. 

He opens them, blinking a few times before he looks around in disbelief– in the living room of Titans Tower.

He barely has a chance to huff out a laugh when he hears footsteps, Kory immediately rushing into the room as he smiles.

“Dick?” 

“Only on weekdays,” he jokes, a sharp laugh coming from her before she’s on him in an instant– holding him tight as he laughs. 

“It’s you,” she says with certainty, Dick seeing movement out of the corner of his eye as more of his team, his family – rushes into the room. 

Dick is immediately overwhelmed with the amount of hugs, cheers, and exclamations of the people around him, Raven coming up to him and searching his face. 

“You’re back,” she says, feeling the way she’s rooting around in his brain. “You have stories.”

“Yeah,” Dick says with a smile, thinking of Peter– a softness in Raven’s eyes that tells him that she sees it too.

“I do.”

“Are you sure–”

“I’m fine, Wally, really,” he says, smiling as the two of them walk down the street together. It’s been a week since he’s made it back home, a week to regroup and rethink– a week to figure out who was trying to kill him and how close they came to succeeding. 

A week for Dick to reach out to the rest of his family, to let them know he’s okay– ending with a particularly surprising phone call with Jason who he regrets now, sharing by which name he went by in another universe.

“I’m never going to forget that,” he’d said over the phone, Dick smiling as he walked through his apartment.

“I’m counting on it.”

A week now, for Dick to reach out to Bruce– only for the man to be at his doorstep, calm and intentional, Dick inviting him in for coffee as the two of them sat together.

The uncharitable part of him wondered if Bruce was checking in for recon but the better part of him– the hope that he tried so hard to instill into Peter– tells him that there’s more to it than that, the weighted concern in the way Bruce asks about his injuries and his adjustment back telling him more than words ever could of the way that he cared for him. 

It’s been a week, long enough for Dick to wonder how things were going for Peter– the question of what kind of path and choices he will make still lingering in the back of his mind as he did his dishes, as he went on patrol, as he watched the city below him and thought of another orphan in another universe– doing the same. 

There wasn’t much that Dick could do for Peter now, but the time he spent there was illuminating– to think of all the different ways that one life could change everything, of the ripple effect of what good can come from the choices that are made. 

“I’m so sorry,” Wally apologizes again, an apology that Dick has told him again and again is unnecessary and bringing him back into the present as Wally continues, “The Wraiths were coming after me and–”

“I’m fine,” Dick says gently, putting a hand to his shoulder. “I made it home, yeah? I always do.”

Wally laughs at that, clapping a hand to his back as Dick brings his own hand down, Wally looking at the abandoned building in front of them. “Where we going, anyway?”  

Dick stops in front of the building, looking at it up and down. 

Stand up straight. 

He smiles, thinking of the time he spent on that other earth– of the kindness of strangers, of one in particular. 

Speak with clarity. 

He considers the choice, the legacy that he carries and what he could still bring– what responsibility he has to do with what he has. 

You belong there . 

Dick takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he lets go of his own doubts and insecurities– thinks once more to Peter and the home that he had created for himself, in the face of such imaginable loss.

He couldn’t change what had happened to him, nor could he force any decision or choice– but choosing still, in the face of everything, to get up and help others both in and outside of the suit was something that in the week since his return had resonated with him. 

Dick cannot change the past, anymore than he can predict the future but he can do something about the now– can think back to Peter and to Teana, to all the people who had helped him to get where he is now. 

Alfred might be gone but Dick is still here, ready and willing to do what he can to make him proud. 

Haven could be better.

He could be better. 

Dick’s smile widens as he looks over to Wally. 

“I got an idea.”